


The Covenant

by nocturneequuis



Series: Manna from Heaven, Whiskey from Hell [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Gen, The Flood - Freeform, biblical era, character exploration, cw: children in danger/death (not graphic)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:42:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23723287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nocturneequuis/pseuds/nocturneequuis
Summary: Crawley fights to do right against the Flood, not even letting the Wrath of God get in his way. Aziraphale does what he can to preserve that which should have been lost. It's difficult in the Great Flood for even a devil and an angel to prevent being swept away.
Series: Manna from Heaven, Whiskey from Hell [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1692535
Kudos: 7





	1. The Promise

The rain came slashing down stirring up the sand. It was hammering like needles against his skin, pricking at his eyes stinging his nose. Crawley fought against it, sand turning to mud under his feet. Behind him, the children struggled, crying out as the wind tore at them, and sent headscarves flying into the unforgiving air.

They were so close.

In the distance he could see the boat resting on a flat rocky bit of earth, held in place by heavy wooden struts. The rain struck its wooden sides, streaking down like tears.

Those bastards. Who did they think they were?

Beloved of God. He snorted. Of course THEY would choose favorites.

He understood punishing the wicked, sure, that was what the Almighty did even if wicked seemed really arbitrary from where he stood... but why the children? Why them? What had they ever done to incur THEIR wrath?

The kids couldn't help their parents, they couldn't help that they weren't born into the beloved family, they couldn't help that they were unwanted by THEM for no other reason than their blood. He didn't understand. Or maybe he understood too well. Maybe the reason didn't matter. One way or the other, he would rectify it.

"Come on," he told them. "Just a little further. We're almost there."

"Friend Crawley!" said a small voice at the back. "Amal!"

With a curse Crawley turned to see that one of the youngest of the children had fallen and was crying in the sand.

He let go the of the young boy's hand that he was holding. The child cried and clung to his sleeve.

“Stay here,” he told him. “I'll be right back I promise.”

The child did as he was told.

Crawley went to the back of the line. The older girl stood by Amal. She was the kid’s sibling, he thought. Or cousin. Or maybe just friend. Amal was young, small, barely a slip of a thing. Too young to even tell gender as far as Crawley could see and wouldn’t leave the girl’s side.

“Amal won't get up,” the girl said

“Mama~! Baba~! Waant~”

Even with the rain, it wasn’t hard to see the kid was bawling their eyes out.

“I know,” Crawley said. He reached out and picked Amal up, trying to brush the wet sand from their robes briefly before giving that up as a lost cause. Instead he gripped the child’s shoulders, looking into those fathomless brown eyes. Very human eyes. Very young eyes. They did not carry hate or lust, just an overwhelming fear. The fear of what would happen, the fear of what was being left behind.

“I know you miss your parents,” he said. “But they would want you to be safe. I'll go back for them, I promise,” he said. Lied. They would hate him for it in the end, but who cared? At least they’d alive.

“Now dry your tears.” He ran his thumb under the child's eyes. Amal nodded, sniffed andscrubbed their eyes with a sleeve. Crawley ruffled their hair before making his way back to the front of the line. He took the young boy’s hand again and together they traveled further along the rough sandy ground.

The storm was rising now, the wind screaming, the rain drumming so hard he could barely hear his own breathing. The boat was huge on the horizon but seemed to take forever to get to. He could feel the children’s panic rise with the water. It was at their feet now, up to their ankles. The youngest ones whimpered as it swept round their shins

There was no time to look back, no time to pause and think, just time to keep going forward, keeping that goal in mind. That shining beacon. That cursed boat, full of the sanctimonious.

They would take these children, he told himself. How could they not? No matter how self-righteous they were, they had to at least see that these kids deserved safety, deserved to live. Surely anyone who followed THEM had some compassion even if it was precious little.

He heard a shriek behind him, followed by a chorus of cries, as if he had lost someone but he kept going, kept moving forward, knew he didn't have time. A roaring noise had started to grow behind them. For now it was faint and in the distance, well below human hearing. Crawley had the feeling it wouldn’t be faint for long.

He picked up the pace, squinting at the rain that came around to lash at his face, pushing and pushing until finally they stood before the massive boat. It was so huge that he couldn’t even see the top over the swelling sides. It was like some monstrous creature risen from the depths of the sea. Some great fish to sit on the drowning world, consume the righteous and their beasts in its belly, and spit them out and to some new land, some promised land.

But only for those who were _good_ enough, who _believed_ enough, who had _faith_ in every single little thing. Who didn't bother to question the whys and the hows and how could yous. It was a hell of a life he was sending these children into. It didn’t matter, he told himself. It didn't matter what they ended up believing because they would be alive to believe it

Circling around the boat he led his straggling little group hearing them slosh. He picked up the young boy into his arms and glanced behind him. The girl was holding Amal, though she struggled under the weight. He smiled at her and she gave him an expression back that could be a smile but was hard to tell in the slanting rain. What he could see clearly was that the hope was draining from their faces. It wouldn't be long before they gave up. He wouldn't let that happen.

He _couldn't_ let that happen.

Finally, he found the hatch that Noah and his kin had led all the animals up through and hammered at it with his fist. The sound sunk against the wood, absorbed by it. Gritting his teeth, he pulled up some power and knocked again, the sound reverberating through the whole boat. He could hear the timbers creak. From within, the startled cries of the animals. From without, the startled cries of the children. The roar grew louder and he looked up, up above the bulk of the man-made creature, trying to find some source of humanity, some source of life, some source of curious eyes peeking down at them, _someone_ that he could convince to let these kids aboard

He hammered again and again and finally his heart lifted as he saw a circular seam appearing in the wall. The window opened. For one moment he thought he would see a different face peering down at him, but it wasn't. It was a woman, the thin-faced wife of one of the sons of that man. She stared down at them, safe in the knowledge that her own children were tucked warmly inside. Her own family good for however long the rain lasted. All because they knew the right people and believed in the right things.

“I found these wandering around,” he called howling to be heard above the rain. “I wondered if you left them behind.” She said nothing, just stared at him, her eyes wide. He could see the guilt in her face working over her expression. Another opening window, he thought, one he could work with.

“I mean you can't just leave them alone, can you? They are kids. They didn't do anything.” He watched her back, met her eyes, swayed a bit to draw attention to the sniffling boy in his arms. “Why don't you just let them in? No one will know. They’ll all behave themselves and help out. Won’t you?” he turned back to look at the children who nodded obediently, even the ones that were crying. 

The woman's mouth went thin. He could tell that he was losing her.

“Come on, he said. “Think about it. You could talk them to your side. I mean convince them about your God being the best and all that. Think of what you could do. Think of the generations you could inspire. You could be the mother of a nation.”

“Please,” a girl said.

“Please.” another echoed. Some children began to cry louder.

The roaring grew, the rain hammered down, the woman turned her head.

 _Shit_.

 _Fine_. 

He would do it himself. He put the child on its hip down and clicked his fingers. A dark vine began to crawl up the side of the ship. It worked over the wood, wedging the window open. The woman shrieked and fell back. Crawely reached up and tugged the vine making sure it was secure, before turning to the children.

“Come on,” he said. “Climb up while you still can.”

The children stared at him open mouthed, eyes wide.

“Djinn…” one of them whispered

“Yeah, I'm a djinn. Here to save your life. Up you get.” But they stared, refusing to move. Suddenly the boy screamed. 

“Friend Crawley!” the girl cried, pointing at the boat.

Crawley's heart sunk as he noticed the hand that was still clutching the vine was starting to turn black and scaled.

No no no no

shit shit _shit_ _**shit**_

“Come on,” he snarled to the heavens. “Don't do thisss to me. Don't do thisss to _them_.”

But it was happening and he couldn't stop it no matter how much he tried. He could feel his body twist and contort. The vine was washed away. The window snapped shut. The children cried and shrieked in fear.

He could do nothing but shrink, turn, twist and writhe. But no matter how hard he fought he found himself squirming belly first in the wet sand. The roaring filling his ears now, but there was nothing he could do. He couldn't even hold the child he had been holding, couldn't save the girl, couldn't do a damn thing.

The roaring came upon them in wall of gray water, eighty feet high. Crawley closed his eyes and asked, begged, prayed. Even doing that much could get him into a lot of trouble, but if it worked, he didn't care how much trouble he got into

It didn't.

The water hit him like the fist of a giant. Crawley was tossed into the gray maelstrom turning and rolling with the currents, gasping for air when he could break the surface, needing to breathe even though didn't usually need to. Like something else was making him have to do this. Was punishing him. He knew just who. He knew just _why_.

 _Damn it,_ he thought. _Damn you._

He closed his eyes and lost himself to the gray.

>>>><<<<

Forty days later, or so it seemed, he woke up curled up on a cold rock that was stuck up out of the Earth high on a mountain. Everything below looked scrubbed raw. Even the new life of the green trees looked stark. It was all out of place. All too new. Everything old had been swept away.

Above the Earth a scarf of multicolored light hung in the sky. As if that was supposed to make everything _better_.

If he could spit at it he would. If he could raise himself up and eat it out of the sky, he would. But right now all he could do was lie here and taste the prickling air.

 _Bastard,_ Crawley thought, then turned his head away and slithered downward.

He wouldn't forgive THEM for this. Not for an eternity.


	2. The Rain Bow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It has been more than enough time than was strictly reasonable being trapped on the Ark, and Aziraphale was quite ready to move on to greener pastures. Or any pastures really. So when one of the members of the family begins acting suspicious, he follows them, determined to thwart whatever wile it was they had in mind.

Aziraphale picked his way among the crowded corridor. Spilled straw was everywhere. Sod too, old now. Well it was all old and stale. Everything was dirt and hay and animals. Goodness the animals. They were everywhere. They scurried underfoot, flew overhead, bumped into legs, thighs, hips; peeked out from other rooms and tried to lip at him or at each other. The worst was in the morning when they called out to one another and it was a cacophony that could wake the dead.

It was a blessing of a sort, he thought. It must be. After all, She wouldn’t do it if it wasn’t. All the humans and animals wrapped together in a few hundred cubits of very solid wood. Nevermind what the forests looked like afterwards. It probably just cleared the way. Made everything that much easier. And, in the end, Aziraphale told himself, it would all be set to right. The world would be fresh and new and no one would ever sin again.

And, more to the point, it was almost over. The wait had seemed agonizing after the dove had returned with the olive branch, but finally land had been sighted. The water of the world draining away to—well—wherever. Soon they would be free of this blessed boat, and so would he.

For his own part—

“Now, stop that. I’m not edible!” He stopped in his musings temporarily to pull his sleeve from the ready mouth of a goat. The creature bleated at him, glaring at through hateful horizontal eyes and while Aziraphale loved all creatures great and small, obliquely at times he had to admit, he wished some weren’t so persistently annoying.

Now where was he? He picked up the hem of his robe as he crossed cautiously over a pile of camel dung, and continued.

Oh yes.

While for the humans, this was –perhaps a subtle blessing, for his own part, it was a punishment. For the sword incident no doubt. He just knew it. Oh, it was light as punishments went. Given that they were relatively new for the heavenly host, and generally the only punishment he’d seen so far was to be sent streaking downward in a brilliant ball of pain never to rise again—But it certainly _felt_ like a punishment.

He had been tasked with observing the humans on their ark, protecting them as he may, preforming the odd miracle or two as needed, offering succor when necessary—but not too much. No the humans were made to endure and so endure they must. The most he could do was the bare minimum, or in a crises situation such as when the grain disappeared and for a week or so they had very fat mice everywhere. The creatures just would not stop breeding.

The point being, in order to do all these things, he had to be here to do them. Cooped up here like an animal or a human, among the smells and the noise and everyone being absolutely miserable with one another but desperately pretending they weren’t. That they all considered this a blessing too. That they had faith. There was nothing more miserable than a human struggling for faith when they knew they were morally obligated to have it.

Thank Heaven it was almost at an end. Soon he would be free to see whatever the world had to offer after it had been drowned half to death. Lord knew what the Almighty was planning, he chuckled a bit at his own pun—but he was sure it was something better that had come before. It must be. But, there was no point dwelling on it.

Right now his main goal was to check the larder and see that it was stocked. There were enough animal products, to be sure. Animal products for leagues, really. No meat, of course. But there were eggs and milk and more fish that should be reasonable, even if one was cramped on a boat for the foreseeable future. But there was very little of grains and vegetables and fruit. Thought fruit always seemed like it would cause more of a problem than not.

He pushed that thought and all accompanying out of his mind, skirted round a pile of offal and moved down the hay strewn hallway. He had almost reached the larder when he spotted her. Nahlab was her name. But she also went by Tikvah. The wife of Cham. She was holding her shawl close about her, cradling something, and looking furtive. Before he could call out to her, she hurried off into the gloom.

Aziraphale pursed his lips. Oh no. No he was simply not allowing anything furtive or untoward to happen today. Not on his watch. Not when he was this close to getting away from living cheek by jowl with the majority of the Almighty’s creations. It was also, frankly, quite irritating. Here the Almighty spent an enormous amount of effort to purge the world of…well he wasn’t quite sure. People who didn’t believe precisely what they ought? Sin? Well purging the world of misdeeds in any case. And there was Nahlab, one of the fortunate ones, being furtive about something.

He would not be cross with her, he told himself, having to pause in his forward momentum as he was waylaid by a flock of fat geese that seemed to want to bar the path. He would be kind but stern. Gentle yet reminding her that they were, perhaps, a week at most of getting off this bloody boat so could she please not entice the Almighty to drown them further, thank you very much. Well, perhaps he wouldn’t say that, but he would certainly _imply_ it.

To do that, however, he would have to catch her in the act. Or, with any luck, before the act had taken place. The geese seemed to be recalcitrant in this endeavor and one of them began peck hopefully at the leather of his sandal.

“Oh no you don't,” Aziraphale said, moving his foot out of the way. Grumbling to himself he picked up the hem of his robe and sidled along the wall. Finally he was free. For a moment he thought he had lost her, but quickly found her again as she moved down into the lower levels of the boat.

Finally she came to a stop, half hidden behind the enormous bulk of an elephant that looked at him woefully. The poor thing had been seasick for going on almost a week now and Aziraphale healed her absently, as best he could anyway as he took a moment to adjust his expression. Stern but kind, fatherly and yet not overbearing. Face set, he moved around the pen.

A shutter had been lifted there, letting in a scattering of wan light and curl of fresh air that smelled of water. Coils of light played on the ceiling and wall opposite and Tikvah’s dark dress as she knelt. Her shawl opened and he saw food inside it. Bread and salted fish and fruit. Naturally it was fruit.

He opened his mouth, then stopped at a small gasp which drew his gaze to the wall. For a moment he felt frozen in place. There, tucked up against the unicorn who had gone grey and wilted like a parched flower, were three children. A girl and boy and a child too young for a gender to be decided. They stared at him with owl-wide eyes. He stared back.

They were children that did not belong here. That he knew.

“Cousin…” Tikvah’s voice was rough. Her hand shook against the corner of her shawl and an apple tumbled out of it, rolling at the dirty feet of the children. The youngest reached for it but the girl held the child back with a hand.

Aziraphale knew he was being called upon to say something. To admonish. To chastise. They were _not_ supposed to be here. They were supposed to be d- To have dro— To have suffered the price of the nonbeliever, or whatever. To perish as everyone else had. 

“They were going to drown,” she said, softly. “Right in front of me. Cousin, what choice did I have?”

Drowning was rather the point, he didn’t say. You could have shut the window, he didn’t say. You could have shut your eyes.

He _should_ say it. He should do more to rectify this situation. Wasn’t it expected of him? Yet what was he to do? Pitch the children out of the window and Tikvah with him? Bring the children to Noah’s attention so he could do it? Aziraphale abruptly wished he hadn’t followed. He wished he hadn’t seen. For thirty days everything had been going swimmingly, and now this.

“What will you do?” Tikvah said, echoing his own questions. She stood, spilling the food from her shawl and spread her arms. “Whatever it is, do it to me. Let them live in peace.”

He shouldn’t. He should administer heaven’s justice. Or at least deliver a message unto Noah saying: we have a teensy bit of a situation. But that seemed like a coward’s way out. Tikvah’s eyes blazed with determination in her face drained of color. The children held one another. The unicorn lifted its great shaggy head and regarded Aziraphale with milky sad eyes.

He knew what he ought to do as an acting Angel of the Lord….

But he was not an Angel of the Lord just now, was he? No, as far as they knew, he was their Cousin. It might cause too much of a stir if he suggested infanticide. Yes, exactly. It would be quite the controversy and the resultant argument would make things even worse for what was left of the humanity in this region of the world. Not to mention Cham and Tikvah would probably quarrel. So all that in mind…

“You really must stop overfeeding that unicorn,” Aziraphale said, feeling inane even as he spoke. “It’s quite rotund already.”

The unicorn snorted and lay down its head. Tikvah sighed in relief, lowering her arms, the warm brown color coming back to her face. The boy laughed nervously and the girl shushed him.

“Yes, of course, Cousin. I understand.” She clasped her hands in front of her, fingers laced almost as if in prayer. “Thank you.”

“Thank you,” the youngest child lisped and it was like a stab to the heart. Aziraphale managed a smile he didn’t quite feel, nodded to them and turned back the way he had come. It would be fine, he told himself. Because actually it was a trial for Tikvah. Exactly. If she did not possess the mental fortitude to come clean now, he could certainly convince her when they got off the boat. Provided he didn’t have another assignment of course. And if he did, well, that was just how things went sometimes.

~*~*~*~

They stood on a cliff, overlooking the valley below. A beautiful rain bow hung across the sky, stretched from end to end in vivid colors. Down near the rocky end of the valley, Tikvah knelt, talking to the children—the unicorn standing weary guard.

“Who would have thought,” Gabriel said. “That they’d reproduce this quickly. Humans, I tell you. Absolute powerhouses. Am I right?”

“Yes,” Aziraphale replied, forcing a chuckle. “They are quite strong.” He watched Tikvah kiss the children in turn. The girl straightened. She took the other two by the hands and began leading them down the narrow part of valley, rocky here and dipping into a ravine. Eventually they would come to a little unflooded plain, growing with tender green. But that seemed a long hard trek.

“Stronger than you know…” He watched Tikvah straighten as well, tug her shawl about her face, knew her to be crying.

“Wonder why she’s sending them away,” Gabriel said and Aziraphale was struck by a moment of pure panic as he tried to dash together a lie.

“Well…every bird has to leave the nest sometime,” he babbled. “Some earlier than others. And this new world, I mean they need to go forth and multiply. Rather difficult if they’re all in one place.”

“That…makes no sense,” Gabriel said. Aziraphale saw the face of his doom. “But that’s why it’s your department. Guess you’ll think twice about losing a flaming sword. Eh?”

“Yes.” Another chuckle, this one of relief. “I shall. Definitely. Lots of thoughts about losing it. I mean, not losing it. Keeping it strapped to me next time. Day and night.” Hopefully there would be no next time.

“That’s the spirit. Well, good job keeping them alive. And, hey, good luck.”

“Good luck?” Aziraphale blinked at the archangel. “You’re not _leaving_ me here, are you?”

“I mean… You are still on assignment. And you did lose the very valuable sword.” Gabriel gave him a smile that strained about the edges and told Aziraphale quite clearly not to press the issue.

“But just think of it. A vast wilderness for you to explore. No cities. No civilization. Nothing but good old fashioned nomadic lifestyle. You’ll be in heaven.” Gabriel winked. “Almost.”

Aziraphale chuckled dutifully. “I am ecstatic.”

“That’s what I like to hear. I’ll be in touch. You’re doing okay, Aziraphale.” Gabriel whacked him on the back between the shoulder blades and it was all he could do not to stumble forward. “Try to step it up.”

“Yes… Of course. I…” But Gabriel was gone.

Aziraphale allowed himself a moment to make a face at the spot where he had been, then took one last glance at the children. _Good luck_ , he thought at them. _Almighty be with you_. And she hoped he would be. He watched Tikvah turn away, back to the boat and the caravan that was starting to spill out of it.

Well he’d survived forty days trapped in close quarters with these fellows. How bad could forty years be?

Aziraphale smiled.

Then sighed and picked his way down the cliff.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a repost from Manna from Heaven, Whiskey from Hell that used to be in one post until I decided to break it up and put it all in a series for organizational purposes.


End file.
